Chapter 25: Intel
A/N: I’m feeling anxious to check in on Ranger and Joe, aren’t you?
Joe’s POV
I’ve been training in Miami for almost five weeks and I really love the city. The vibe, the atmosphere, the food, the half-naked women. This is great.
The only fly in the gelato is Mañoso.
I’m under constant surveillance by the man. I’m sure this is his dream- to be able to openly tail me, track my movements, and monitor everything I do. I realize that since I’ve been chipped, I won’t have a moment of privacy on this case. I wonder if he knows when I take a shit. Do those tracking chips give him that much detail?
In order to keep it interesting for him, I’m narrating my life for him, moment by moment. If he’s listening in, he’s now aware of exactly how much I hate him (“I just finished taking my morning shit…it was massive…and by the way, I hate you, Mañoso.”). It also relieves the boredom and frustration. I continue to call my mother weekly and get the updates on the Burg news. Marriages, divorces, adultery, run of the mill stuff. Until today.
“Joey, you’ll never believe this! You’ll never guess!” My mother is excited, whatever it is. I wonder who’s pregnant now.
“What is it Ma?” I lie back on the bed and get comfortable. It’s going to take her a while.
“Stephanie Plum has been named Managing Director of RangeMan LLC. That thug put her in charge of his entire business!”
OK, that’s something. I sit up in bed, stunned. She’s gotta be kidding.
“Are you sure, Mom? That sounds a little unlikely. I mean, Mañoso’s hired her in the past, but only for small stuff.” I’m moving for my laptop. I have to see if I can find something on this.
“I’m certain, Joey. They issued a press release and everything. Take a look at their website.” My mother is beyond excited about this. I can tell this has to be the biggest bit of gossip in the Burg. “Everyone in the Burg is talking about it, how Stephanie went from just staying there for her leg to working there. From what I hear, her grandmother has moved into her apartment and she’s still staying in the building. And there are new people in charge at the office. No one knows what’s going on in there. You should call your police buddies … oh, right. You can’t.”
I can hear my mother’s disappointment. She wants the newest gossip. I’m surfing to the website and I find the news release. Holy Hell, Momma is right. Mañoso is insane.
“Anyway, I’ll see what I can get, Joey.” We disconnect.
I’m reading the press release, trying to understand. Cupcake is the Managing Director. What in the hell is that? Henry Linden, Ramsay Sinclair, and Manuel Sanchez are now in charge. Well, that sounds like it might be Hal and Ram. I know the third guy as a former feeb who got shot during the Scrog mess. I still can’t believe anyone in law enforcement would voluntarily work for Mañoso.
Maybe the guy is bent. TPD found out that he left the Bureau with a clean record and multiple commendations but still, my current case proves it’s possible.
I’ve listened more than Cupcake thinks and learned as many names as I could. Cupcake is the only way we, TPD, learn anything about Mañoso’s organization. Of course, since she’s so loyal to him, the most we get is nicknames, but it’s a start. I can probably name about 15 of Mañoso’s men now. I know about 10 of them on sight.
I still can’t make any sense of this press release. I thought Mañoso had standards for his company. Weapons, combat, all that stuff. Does this mean she has to get training? I mean, this sounds like a desk job, so maybe not, but if it isn’t a desk job and she has to get training, I’m in favor of that.
I feel hopeful. Maybe she took our discussion seriously if she’s working for Mañoso and getting training or working a desk job. I can take this. A nice desk job, no Mañoso for a year, and protected by his men. They might be a bunch of criminals, but they’ll tear a man to shreds for her. Yes, this is the sort of job, a steady desk job, that I can handle Cupcake doing. It’s perfect, even if it is working for him. If she’s finally getting training, then maybe she’s started considering the other things I talked about. Maybe I’ll hear she’s ready for a trip to Italy. God I hope so. Maybe this nightmare is about to be over.
Maybe I should have given her an ultimatum earlier instead of letting this drag out.
I’m not pleased that she’s living in his building. I’m hoping she’s living in the other apartments on premises. I don’t think I even want to contemplate her living in his apartment. Even without him there. No. I don’t want to think about that. I wish now that I had not agreed to allow Momma to rent the house. Cupcake could stay there if she needed a home and still wanted to help get her grandmother out her parents’ home. And there’s no way I can offer her the house now. I’m now officially on this case. I’m incommunicado.
Damn.
I head to RangeMan Miami the next morning. I have to admit, Mañoso’s Miami headquarters is nice. TPD would love this place; it has the best of everything. New, heavily modified cars with all kinds of features. Great gun range with every weapon imaginable (exactly what use does Mañoso have for a surface to air missile launcher?) and multiple lanes. Spectacular gym. I’ve heard rumors about boats. The housekeeper, Maria, is kind to me and leaves me little treats. I haven’t seen a pizza in weeks, but Latin food in Miami is on an entirely different level. There’s something called an empanada and these little potato things, papas rellenas, that I’m learning require another 30 minutes on the treadmill to burn off.
Mañoso’s men are serious about his orders. I was startled when they showed up at my apartment 24 hours after I moved in and announced that I needed to follow them to RangeMan Miami. I went, only because I know Mañoso had arranged it and I was curious to see this location. I met Armando, who outlined what they had been ordered to provide me by orders of the CO. I was given a key fob that would get me into the garage, the gun range, and the gym without difficulty. Anywhere else on premises I would have to be escorted. He also stated, with a little distaste, that the key fob would get me into those same places at any RangeMan location so I needed to be careful with it.
I’m still a little surprised to be in possession of a RangeMan key fob. I wonder where Cupcake can go with hers? Too bad I can’t manage a little switcheroo and find out. I’m sure it has its own tracking device, and I’m absolutely certain that they’ll take it from me the moment this case is over.
Mañoso ordered them to get me understanding 75% of Spanish conversations in 2 months. They’ve taken that order to the extreme, drilling me constantly on Spanish nouns, verbs, and shit-talking. No one even attempts to say anything to me in English anymore and it wasn’t until I spoke to Maria that I understood that the standard operating language in the Miami office was Spanish. So they’re accustomed to speaking it all the time and it reinforces the language for anyone who speaks Spanish as a second language. Shit! On the plus side, I understand most, say 80%, of what I hear at this point, I just can’t get the words to come out.
I also have to be able to meet male military fitness standards, which is apparently the baseline fitness requirement in this office. They require more, but since I’m not an employee, they won’t push me to their standard and since I’m Navy, they decided to test me against the standards I already knew. Shit! There’s a list of reasons why I left the Navy, and the treadmill was high on the list. I hated that shit. Thankfully, the guys realize I’m still an excellent swimmer so they pass me on the swimming part of physical. I just gotta get up to the 10 minute mile in the next two weeks.
I head up the stairs (I learned quickly that taking the elevator was discouraged unless you wanted to be termed a coño. Took me days to figure out what coño was) and hit the range area. I’m getting prepped when I hear three of the guys walk in.
“Sí, Armando, dijo el jefe dejó su mujer a su cargo. En realidad, nadie cree que la mierda hasta que el comunicado de prensa salió.” (Yeah, Armando said the boss left his woman in charge. No one really believed that shit until the press release came out.)
“¿En serio? Respondemos a coño ahora? Es la sensación jefe OK?” (Really? We answer to pussy now? Is the boss feeling OK?)
“Yo, ver esa mierda. Coño o no, ella todavía la mujer del jefe. Las paredes tienen oídos, hermano, y que me aspen si el jefe me necesita para las esteras por no respetar a su mujer.” (Yo, watch that shit. Pussy or not, she’s still the boss’s woman. The walls have ears, bro, and I’ll be damned if the boss takes me to the mats for disrespecting his woman.)
There’s a moment of silence before the first guy continues.
“Verdadero. Mira, sé qué está pasando, pero ella es el jefe ahora. Nosotros respondemos a ella. Él le dio completa autoridad. Estoy seguro de que Mark tiene un aneurisma en Boston.” (True. Look, we dunno what’s going on but she’s the boss now. We answer to her. He gave her complete authority. I’m sure Mark’s having an aneurysm in Boston.)
I simply can’t believe what I’m hearing. Mañoso truly left Cupcake in charge of his entire business. I kept thinking about it all night, and the more I thought, the unhappier I was. Is he that rich that he can survive the loss of his entire fucking company, because I guarantee you she doesn’t know what she’s doing. How could she? Nothing in her past could prepare her for doing whatever a ‘Managing Director’ does, and I don’t want her to fail. I know she hates to fail, so why would Mañoso set her up like this?
So part of this hellish situation still hasn’t changed. She still depends on him for help. She’s working for him again. He’s given her access to whatever she wants, or at least, whatever he’s willing to share with her. He still has me under surveillance.
Damn! I thought that maybe she’d made progress untangling her life from him but maybe not.
I can’t help it, I gotta ask. I walk around the corner and, sure enough, it’s Rico and Julio talking with a third guy. Don’t know him. Don’t care.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Mañoso left her in charge of his company? Is he an idiot? Is he insane?”
My outburst gets no response from any of the men. It’s literally as if they are looking right through me. I’ve often wondered if Mañoso brainwashed his men when he hired them; this is not helping dispel that idea.
“Español,” Rico says.
I hate these bastards. ‘The boss said’ is taken as literal law here, not as a suggestion, and they follow him like ducks. I can’t think of half the words I need to say. I understand it when spoken. I’m having a mental block against speaking it.
Thankfully, I’m rescued by the chief bastard himself.
“Ya lo tengo. Retírate.” (I got it. Stand down.)
He motions for me to follow him, and we walk up the stairs to the 5th floor, the monitoring floor. He waves me into an office and I walk in. He grabs me, lifts me, and slams me against the door I just walked through. I’m completely caught off guard. I can feel him moving to cut off my air supply and I can’t break his hold. I try kicking his legs but mine are pinned too. Shit!
“Non è mai in dubbio la mia sanità mentale o miei ordini di fronte ai miei uomini di nuovo,” (Don’t you ever question my sanity or my orders in front of my men again) he growls. He tightens his forearm against my throat until I nod, tears in my eyes. He lets go abruptly and I sink to the floor, trying to catch my breath.
I really hate that this bastard speaks Italian. Perfect fucking Italian. I’m struggling in his language and he can bust my ass open in mine.
He moves back behind a desk and waves for me to take a seat. I stand, looking at him as if he were insane. Last time you offered me something, asshole, you threw me against a door. Remember? Happened not two minutes ago? He waits; I continue to stand. Eventually he shrugs his shoulders.
“Questo ufficio ha problemi di genere e l’ultima cosa di cui ho bisogno è i miei uomini che cercano di rendere la vita Steph è ancora più difficile per il prossimo anno. Capire?” (This office has gender issues, and the last thing I need is my men trying to make Steph’s life even more difficult over the next year. Understand?)
I nod. Why did you put her in charge if you knew she’d walk into problems? I don’t get it. It makes no sense.
Mañoso sits back in the chair and looks at me. Eventually, his lips twitch into a wry smile.
“Sai, Morelli, per qualcuno che afferma di amare così tanto, si ha realmente non pensano molto di lei, vero?” (You know, Morelli, for someone who claims to love her so much, you really don’t think much of her, do you?)
I blink. What the fuck does he mean? I do love Cupcake. I just don’t understand what he’s up to. There has to be a trick here.
“Voglio dire, qualcuno le dà qualcosa da fare, un po ‘di responsabilità, mostra un po’ di fede in lei e la prima risposta, invece di congratularmi con lei mentalmente o augurandole il meglio, è assumere che loro sono insano.” (I mean, someone gives her something to do, some responsibility, shows some belief in her and your first response, instead of mentally congratulating her or wishing her the best, is to assume that they’re insane.)
I’m tempted to tell him he’s wrong, that my first response was pleasure that she had what sounded like a desk job. I’m suspicious about his motives. I can’t understand the reasoning behind this decision. I’m angry that he has the means to offer her his entire company and is insane enough not to worry that she might bankrupt the entire thing. If the rest of the branches are like this, then this fucker is beyond rich, and I’ll never be able to offer her anything like this. Another reason to hate him. I don’t like comparing myself to him, but being in his building every day is like having him shove his money in my face.
Manoso looks at me coolly. “È questa la tua idea di amore, di sostegno? Per apertamente il suo deridere, sminuire il suo, mettere in dubbio le sue capacità? Nessuna meraviglia lei non ti sposerà. Cazzo il mio essere nella foto. Tu sei un asino” (Is that your idea of love, of support? To openly mock her, belittle her, cast doubt on her abilities? No wonder she won’t marry you. Fuck my being in the picture. You’re an ass.)
I’ve had enough of this. I flip him the bird and throw open the door. Half of RangeMan Miami is milling around outside the door, trying to listen.
“Cualquiera de ustedes, cabrones entender italiano?“(Any of you fuckers understand Italian?) I wait. No response. “No? Entonces estás jodido tratando de escuchar nuestras conversaciones. (No? Then you’re screwed trying to listen to our conversations.)
There’s silence on the floor and finally applause as I stalk toward the stairwell.
I finally did it. I managed to get past the mental block. My first true sentence in Spanish is to tell the men of RangeMan Miami where to get off.
I need the gun range. Now.
Ranger’s POV
I hear Morelli stalk down my hallway and smile. I love rattling this fucker, and I’m actually proud that his first sentence in Spanish is to tell my men to stop eavesdropping.
Les underestimates the gender issues in this office. Steph is going to have a real problem here. These men really do believe that Maria lives to serve them, and they take her for granted. The treatment is not the same as the way the Trenton men treat Ella. So, I make a quick decision: Babe just gained a personal assistant for two months. I’ll send Ella here. When the men here learn to appreciate having a housekeeper, then they can have Maria back. Ella will teach them to appreciate having a housekeeper.
I call Ella, detail my plan to her. Ella is the only person I would trust with something like this. I can tell that Ella is not exactly pleased at first, but the more I describe the situation, the more interested she is in helping. By the end of the call, Ella can’t wait to perform an attitude adjustment on Maria and the men of Miami.
I call Hal. He’s surprised to hear from me. “Sir, how can I help?”
I detail my plan to him and explain that I already have Ella’s approval.
“Yes, sir. I’ll coordinate with Ella on this. Anything else, sir?”
“CO?”
“Doing well, sir.” I’m aware. I see the status reports. Babe is making waves. I realize this is the best part of this op; for the first time, I’ll be able to take a moment to peek into the status of my company while undercover.
I call Maria to my office. She arrives with a tray of treats. Oh Dios. Housekeeper, not maid.
“Maria.” I kiss her cheeks and motion for her to put the treats away. She should know by now that I won’t touch them. “How are you?”
“I am doing well, Ranger. How are you? Do you need anything?”
I need you not to be the men’s doormat, that’s what I need. “I have an assignment for you. Ella is in need of some R & R time, so I’m transferring her here. I would like you to take her place in Trenton for two months. Assignment may run longer. Can you do this for me?” I can see her confusion. Moving men around is one thing; moving housekeepers?
“Certainly, Ranger. When do you want me to leave?” Unlike Ella, Maria asks no questions.
“Coordinate with Ella. Tell no one in this branch.” With a nod, Maria leaves.
Good. Now to arrange Morelli’s life in Dover.
A/N: I’ve provided a handy gang terminology dictionary in the post-script. All conversations in Spanish.
So far, this op has gone pretty well. I was able to start a campaign of misinformation through Trent to eliminate the idea that we were starting a takedown of federal agents. Since no one has moved for six weeks, I’m hearing chatter in the network that the threat level is high, everyone’s on alert, but the threat assessment is being termed low.
Idiots.
I’m trying to keep a low profile, rarely speaking to the men and going about my business, following up on leads that I have. I already know that I won’t start Morelli in Miami. I’m going to move him to Dover. By some shitty stroke of luck, he has the most experience of any officer on this op, so I’ll put him in the area where I need the most help, where I have the least intel.
Now that he’s gotten past the mental block, I’ll move him in two weeks. I need to begin making arrangements for him to live and work there. The other officers have started their ops and are doing decently well, for the most part. One agent, from Georgia, is doing an excellent job and if she continues like this, I’ll move her here to Florida for the last part of the op.
I leave the office and slide into my Mercedes. I need to look successful, but not worth hijacking for this meeting. Mercedes are common in Miami; the Porsche or Lamborghini would be jacked immediately. I head into Little Havana and pull up to a bodega I used to frequent as a kid. This trip requires three guns, two knives, and Kevlar under the suit. This part of Little Havana is not a place to play around. The Reyes standing around the bodega eye me, but I’m not an unknown so I pass through without the normal pat down.
Piman is waiting in the bodega. Rogelio, aka Piman, is one of the few Reyes that I know from my time in the gang who is still alive and not currently doing time. He’s an Inca now, and no matter how many times they try, DEA cannot get anything on him. I’ve been offered the contract unknown times, but this is my boy. He once saved my life so I won’t be the one. I let him know every time I get a contract offer. We greet each other and I take note of the number of soldiers he’s brought along for this meeting. I smile mentally. I remember these days, before the juvie stint and college, sitting around a bodega while the jefes and Incas talked business.
Dios, I was stupid back then. Thank god that’s over.
Piman is quiet while I check for bugs. I know he’s already done it, but my device is more powerful. I pick up two bugs and make note of the likely locations. Gotta be DEA again, probably ATF. We’ll stay away from the back left corner. I nod. We’re good to talk.
“I hear word there’s an attempt to come with power,” Piman says quietly.
“Where?”
“A-Town. Ya boys in charge done a ghost already. NC.”
“How you lookin?” I get a raised eyebrow. Arrogant fucker, but I know Piman handles his. He hasn’t remained on top this long to go down on stupid shit.
“Yeah, yo boys already checked in.” Shit. This is not what I need, but it gives me a lead. I can check to see who put them in protective custody.
One of Piman’s soldiers walks in. “Yo, glass house outside. Ours?”
I shift slightly, let him see the 9 mm. “If you need a bus ticket home.”
His eyes widen slightly and he nods. Now he knows to keep an eye on the car.
“Mine,” Piman says, hiding a smile.
“Not if he fucks with the car,” I growl. I’m not going to be left stranded here.
Piman shrugs. “News?”
I consider telling him Steph’s in charge. He shouldn’t have to come in contact with her, but still. . .if some shit happens in Miami he’ll find out first. He keeps an ear to the ground for me now for chatter about Julie. The number of Reyes looking for her when Scrog had her still touches me, even though they knew I would never come back. Yeah. Better he should know. After Tank, Lester, Bobby, and Hector, Piman would make sure Babe’s kept safe, and if some shit went down in Miami he’ll update my men and put his soldiers on the hunt. A Reyes who recognized Scrog provided my first clue in finding my daughter.
I open my wallet and pass one of my pictures of Steph to him. He looks at me, eyebrow raised.
“Tigresa,” I tell him. At that, his eyes widen and he nods. El Tigre is my old handle. “She’s in charge. She may stop in. I’ve told her nothing.”
He nods. “Mine knows.” He produces a picture. The woman is fine, but no woman can hold a candle to my Babe. He passes the picture back, we throw deuces and I leave.
So that wasn’t a bad intel trip. There’s a major gang fight coming to Atlanta, and the perpetrators have already fled to North Carolina, probably Charlotte, where they’ve entered witness protection. So, I need to find out who is in protective custody and who put them there.
I’ll send Hector on a fact-finding mission. This is the kind of intel the feds could never get. This is why they pay me.
Post-Script
Bodega: Term in Hispanic neighborhoods to refer to a “party store’, ‘corner store’, ‘convenience store’, or ‘grocery’ interchangeably.
Inca: High ranking Latin King
Jefe: Spanish for boss
Come with power: Major Gang fight
To do a ghost: Leave town/leave the area
Glass House: Car, usually a four-door, with lots of windows. Refers to the unattended Mercedes. The question “Ours?” translates as: Are we allowed to steal it?
Bus Ticket home: Would you like to die today?
Check in: Go into protective custody.
Throw deuces: Peace sign made sideways after a handshake or fist bump.
